


Retrouvailles

by Eshusplayground



Category: Keeping Up With The Jonses (2016)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-09
Updated: 2017-02-09
Packaged: 2018-10-22 04:31:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10689792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eshusplayground/pseuds/Eshusplayground
Summary: After Tim and Natalie get divorced, Tim's life takes a turn for the worse, but Natalie's is better than ever, especially now that she's met someone new.





	Retrouvailles

_Tim and Natalie were sitting at their favorite table at Hazim’s with their newborn baby when Jeff and Karen surprised them by meeting them there. Their reunion was cut short because terrorists attacked, machine guns rat-tat-tat-tatting. He and Natalie kicked ass, as always, baby and ex-neighbors in tow…_

…at least, that’s how Tim once imagined it. 

The irony, of course, was that he had no idea that his marriage and his life would take a turn for the decidedly worse. He should’ve seen it coming a long time ago when Natalie went from can’t-get-enough-sex to I’ll-rip-your-fucking-balls-off-if-you-touch-me. At the time, Tim had chalked it up to marriage counseling bringing up some unpleasant truths about their relationship. Dr. Katz had sounded very professional and logical when he said that Natalie used danger and excitement—shootouts, car chases, explosions, and sex—to avoid revealing her true feelings. He wasn’t entirely wrong, but what Dr. Katz—and Tim, it turned out—had conveniently overlooked was that danger and excitement were a big part of who Natalie was. So Natalie clammed up, and Tim stopped bothering. Dr. Katz warned them that if something didn’t change, they had a year or two, at most, before things fell apart. Funny how right he was.

Almost a year to the day, while Tim ate a nutritious breakfast, Natalie placed the divorce papers next to his coffee. He should’ve been tipped off by how uncharacteristically calm she was and the fact that she didn’t seek any kind of alimony. But—and Tim hated himself a little for this—he had been too relieved to even think about fighting for their relationship.

Then, just like that, ten years of marriage were over without neither a bang nor a whimper.

When they parted ways, Tim finally quit his job and started travel writing full time. Despite Tim’s visions of getting paid to travel the world on someone else’s dime, it paid _a lot_  less than chasing spies and terrorists around the globe. Even so, it was far easier on his conscience than lying and killing (with a bit of torture here and there, though that was mostly Natalie when they worked together) for a living. 

For the first few months, he reveled in the glorious freedom of doing whatever the fuck he wanted. He left the toilet seat up, had week-old pizza boxes scattered all over the place, ate pork and shellfish, drank the microbrews Jeff had introduced him to, left dirty socks everywhere, and didn’t give a damn. More months dragged on until one night shortly before their anniversary. Tim came back from a rat motel in Bumfuck, Idaho for a feature he was writing for a travel magazine that paid ten cents a word, took one look at his pig sty apartment, and realized: his life sucked. What made it worse was that it was his own fault. As often as he had accused Natalie of not being a good listener, he hadn’t been paying attention either. How else could he not notice how unhappy she was? And when she’d finally had enough, what did he do? What did he say? Nothing. How could he have been so stupid?

Better late than never, as the saying goes. Thus began Operation Get Natalie Back.

 

And what was Natalie doing all this time? Would it be romantic to believe she stalked Tim all day and cried herself to sleep every night? Would it be understandable for her to throw herself into her work to avoid being confronted with the reality of being alone? Who knows?

After Natalie left Tim, she changed her phone and e-mail address, bought a motorcycle, and ditched her cover story for something new. Shed of the Mrs. Jones persona she hadn’t even been aware she was wearing, she finally felt like herself again, and she blossomed. It felt so good to get back to her life’s true purpose: to travel the world, meet interesting people, and kill them. She hardly thought about Tim at all except when she was at the firing range and imagined his face and genitals on the targets. 

Her latest assignment was in Miami, so she arrived a few days early so she could enjoy the sunny weather. (She had gotten so pale in Moscow that she screamed when she saw her own reflection, thinking herself a ghost.) As soon as she plopped her bags in her new place, she headed straight to the beach in a dental floss bikini to sunbathe, read a book, and watch the ocean waves lapping against the coast. If anyone started trouble, and Natalie held out a vague hope that they would, a switchblade and a loaded .22 lay just under her towel.

“Excuse me?” called a voice nearby coming from roughly nine-o’clock.

Natalie glanced toward the voice. The sun was in her face, so she couldn’t make out more than dark brown legs, a vaguely feminine shape, and a mop of frizzy hair. The stranger turned at a slight angle, revealing a Wonder Woman T-shirt with the dialogue bubble covered in masking tape with Black Lives Matter scrawled across it in black marker.

“I don’t mean to bother you, but is it OK if I take your picture?” asked the stranger.

Natalie should’ve said no. The last thing she needed on this mission was for her face to wind up Photoshopped to some other woman’s naked body and then get recognized by the people she was supposed to get intel on. But the people taking her picture were usually men, and they certainly didn’t ask before zooming straight to her tits or ass, which meant that women often hated her guts because the man sneaking pics of her tits and ass were their boyfriends or husbands, which always puzzled her because if the men were misbehaving, why was it the other woman’s fault? Yet, the woman standing next to her, whom she would have every reason to expect to despise her, asked her permission to take her picture as if she recognized that Natalie was not competition for some man’s attention and, in fact, was a person whose feelings and preferences mattered. So, despite everything the agency drilled into her about protecting her identity and maintaining anonymity, Natalie said yes.

The stranger’s name was Ursa Banks, though she preferred to be called Dip (“Ursa, y’know, for Ursa Major, the Big Dipper. So, Dip.”), and she was sweet, smart, and utterly adorable. So, naturally, Natalie wanted to fuck her senseless. The entire time Dip snapped pictures of her, Natalie’s mind buzzed with ways to get her aroused and naked, which transformed into increasingly elaborate fantasies of thoroughly corrupting her and gaining her total submission. Would Dip let herself be tied up and gagged? Would she writhe and pretend to struggle against her restraints? Would she whimper and beg for more? How would she feel about butt plugs and nipple clamps?

Dip eventually ran out of film, so they talked until the sun began to set. From the way Natalie turned on the charm, one would think that she was trying to seduce Dip, which she totally was. And when the former Mrs. Jones turned on the charm, she could be a tactical nuke of sexy. Poor Dip was a sitting duck.

 

Technically, Tim wasn’t stalking Natalie. Sure, he had binoculars, rode around Miami in an unremarkable vehicle, and kept a spiral notebook that logged Natalie’s movements, but that didn’t mean he was stalking her. Actually, he was investigating her. Fine, it was stalking, but it was for a good cause. He just had to make sure that Natalie was doing alright. In other words, that Natalie was as miserable and lonely as he was.

From the looks of it, she was doing perfectly fine without him. She looked even more amazing than she did before she left. Toned and tanned, her natural dark curls flowing, she was fucking gorgeous, and she strutted as if the whole world was her catwalk. He must have been out of his mind to let her go.

Tim couldn’t figure out what Natalie’s mission was, but she had been spending a lot of time with some Black lady who seemed civilian enough. A discrete phone call dug up the name Ursa Banks, a freelance DJ who worked all over Miami. No red flags went up about Banks, so why was Natalie around her so much? Was she involved with something or someone important to Natalie’s mission? Or was her interest in Banks of a more personal nature?

Something ugly and sticky stirred within Tim. He’d never been a jealous husband, not even when Karen pulled Natalie into a hard kiss to distract the Scorpion’s henchmen, but a rare possessiveness would sometimes spike when he least expected it. Such as now, as he watched Natalie gently escort Ms. Banks inside a lingerie boutique. This was unacceptable. Trying on lingerie was Natalie’s special thing to do for _him_!

He got out of the car, trotted to the boutique, and peered through the display glass. Natalie and Banks stood near a selection of skimpy underwear. As they talked, Tim’s lip-reading skills came back to him as if they’d never left.

“You would look incredible in this,” said Natalie, “c’mon, let’s go see.”

“I don’t know,” said Banks.

Natalie gave Banks a reassuring pat on the arm and said, “It’s OK. It’s just us girls.”

“No, no, it’s not that. What I mean is, uh…I don’t wanna make you uncomfortable.”

“Don’t be silly,” said Natalie. She took Banks by the hand and led her toward the back of the store where the changing rooms were. Tim’s instinct was to follow them, but a man wandering through a lingerie store might’ve raised a few eyebrows. Then again, in certain places, it wouldn’t warrant a reaction at all. Tim slipped inside the store and scanned the area, noting the exit sign pointing toward a corridor that went down the far side of the store. He quickly made his way toward the dressing rooms on the other side and stopped when he heard Natalie’s voice.

“…take this off and try it on.”

“In front of you?” asked Banks.

“Mmhm. What’s wrong? Hm? Why so shy?”

“Well, before we get undressed—well, more undressed—you should know something about me.”

“And what is that?”

Tim went inside the dressing room next to theirs. He cupped his ear against the wall, but he still didn’t hear what Banks said to Natalie.

“You’re very sweet for telling me,” said Natalie.

“You don’t mind?”

“Of course not. Do you think I dress this way to impress men? How’s that? Is that too tight? Wow, you look amazing. See how strong and beautiful you are?”

Natalie’s voice went low and soft. She said, “I’m glad you trusted me with something so important to you.”

Then she asked, “Ursa, are we friends?”

“Sure.”

“Then I want no secrets between us. You don’t have to hide anything about yourself from me. You can tell me anything, OK?”

“OK.”

“Do you Kegel?”

“Whoa, you really meant it when you said no secrets.”

“I do it all the time. Not to brag, but those muscles down there are really strong. Sometimes, when I’m feeling naughty, I put a tiny vibrator down there, and I hold it in for hours. It’s so quiet that no one knows that it’s there. Actually, I have it inside me right now,” said Natalie, taking a deep breath and moaning softly.

“What about you?” asked Natalie, “Do you do anything naughty?”

“Well, uh…”

Tim left the boutique a little pissed off and more than a little turned on. Operation Get Natalie Back had to move forward.

 

The next part of Natalie’s assignment took her to a hookah bar hidden behind a sushi restaurant. It had a dark, seedy vibe that would turn off the general public but drew in the criminal underbelly of the city like flies to shit. Several people smoked various substances from the hookahs perched in the centers of tables. A well-dressed couple snorted coke in a dark corner of the bar. Clusters of people sat around a few tables and played Mahjong. She loved places like this because she didn’t have to pretend to be safe or normal.

Last time, she’d come alone to find her mark. This time, she brought Dip with her, though her reasons for doing so weren’t entirely personal. Aside from being able to enjoy the pleasure of her company, with Dip there, Natalie could more easily observe her mark without being noticed. What was it they said about the birds and the stone?

While she waited for her mark to make a move, Natalie kept an eye on Dip to make sure she was alright. To her surprise, Dip seemed perfectly at ease, not the least bit shocked or put off by the obviously illegal things she saw.

“You seem comfortable,” said Natalie.

Dip shrugged. She said, “Nothing here I haven’t seen before.”

“Really? Where?”

“I’m a DJ, Natalie. It’s not always weddings and b’nai mitzvot.”

Natalie didn’t know what surprised her more: that sweet, innocent Dip had even put a toe inside a place like this, or that she knew how to properly pronounce the plural of bar mitzvah.

“Surprised?” asked Dip.

“You don’t seem like the kind of person who comes here often.”

“Natalie, I know I look like I’m twelve years old, but I’ll be thirty-four this year.”

Then Dip shocked her again when she asked, “Is this a date?”

“What do you think?” asked Natalie, hoping she didn’t show how much she was floundering. 

“I think you want this to be a date.”

Natalie gawked. She thought she was being subtle. She thought she had this completely under control. She had everything all planned out, but Dip kept doing the unexpected. It was incredibly sexy.

“How did you know?”

“Kegels and bullet vibes are not a topic of casual conversation with a woman you met two weeks before, especially right after she told you she was gay.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Honestly, at first, I couldn’t believe it. I thought you were joking, but then we kept hanging out, and I started wondering if there could be more to it.”

“What are you thinking now?”

“I’m thinking I wanna see where this goes,” said Dip, smiling in that cute, sexy way that had been driving Natalie crazy for weeks. She was 99% sure that if she tried to kiss Dip then, she would’ve let her, and they would’ve gone straight to the restroom to have sex. If Dip were a man, that’s exactly what she would’ve done, but the important thing about seducing a woman was the buildup, getting her to anticipate what it would be like to get fucked by her. Next to the act itself, it was Natalie’s favorite part. If she played her cards right, when the time came, Dip would be open to just about anything.

Then again, there was something to be said for seizing the heat of the moment. Natalie leaned forward, about to gently place her lips on Dip’s, when two men entered the bar, obviously armed and trying to hide it. She glanced at her mark. He fidgeted as they approached his table. What was going on there? She read their lips as they talked, gleaning something about a deadline and someone named The Fox being unhappy if some goods are not delivered on time. Jackpot, as they said in English.

 

It was only a matter of time before Tim got caught. He’d been tailing Natalie all afternoon and parked in front of a Cuban/Middle Eastern fusion restaurant that Natalie and Banks had entered. To anyone who didn’t know Natalie, it was nothing to be alarmed about, just gals being pals and sharing a meal together, but Tim had been married to her for ten years, so all those little body language things she did read to him like huge neon signs that said Natalie Wants To Fuck This Woman. Now that Tim thought about it, it was funny that, despite Natalie’s clear interest in women, they’d never talked about it before, not even after she had leaned into that kiss Karen had given her to distract the bad guys with guns. What was that thing Jeff said they were bad at? Communication. That’s it. They didn’t communicate. If they had, well, things could’ve gotten a lot more interesting. He could’ve told Natalie that sometimes, he had an intense urge to suck a dick, and they could’ve incorporated their desires into a rich and varied sex life that was even better than it was when they were married. Jeff was absolutely right. Communication was key.

Tim thought he hadn’t been noticed, but as he imagined Natalie and Banks having sex without him, glaring at the restaurant all the while, someone tapped on his car window. Tim instinctively reached for a pistol that he didn’t carry anymore. Shit! His mind scrambled for something to say to get out of this, but it was just Natalie. Fuck, she was beautiful. The dress she wore looked familiar. Was it the one she wore at that garden party with the Gaffneys? What was it called? Something corny and suburban like—Junetoberfest! That’s what it was called.

“Hi, Tim.”

“Hi, Natalie.”

“Why are you following me?”

“I wasn’t following you.”

“You’ve been tailing me for weeks now, and don’t think I didn’t see you at the lingerie store.”

Tim almost told her that he was nothing without her and wanted her back, but Natalie had never been the easiest person to be vulnerable with. She was prickly at the best of times, and sharing even a sliver of his real feelings with her result in her chewing him up and spitting him out just for the hell of it. God, he loved her.

“What do you want, Tim?”

“Are you wearing a new shade of lipstick?”

“You’re trying to get me back. Oh, my God, you’re so pathetic!”

She started cursing at him in Hebrew. She spoke too fast for him to understand exactly what she was saying, but it involved elaborate insults about his genitals, his mother’s genitals, and his dog’s genitals. And he didn’t even have a dog. It was so adorable.

When she finally ran out of steam, she yelled, “Leave me alone!”

Then she rolled her eyes and walked away.

“It’s great to see you again, hon!” called Tim. Natalie flipped him off and went back into the restaurant.

This had to be a good sign. She wouldn’t scream at him in Hebrew if she didn’t care.

 

It was days like this that reminded Natalie how much she loved this job. 

She had followed her mark to an abandoned office park at the edge of the city. Bad guys in black cars, probably working for The Fox, showed up and tried to kill her. They shot at her with pistols and machine guns, but a speeding motorcycle was a hard target to hit. She took out one of them as they reloaded. When they ran out of bullets, they tried to run her over, but she zipped into a narrow alley and escaped. It was a good thing she wore a helmet, or she would’ve blown her cover.

After the excitement of that morning, Natalie got incredibly horny, as she usually did after situations like that. The sensible thing to do would have been to go back to her safe, secure downtown apartment and masturbate, but Dip’s place was closer, and she would’ve touched herself thinking about Dip anyway. Feeling reckless, she texted Dip and let her know she was coming, though Dip had no idea she meant that in more ways than one.

When she arrived after the longest ten minutes of her life, Dip answered the door and said, “You’re not hot in all that leather?”

Natalie shut her up with a deep, rough kiss. This was not how she had imagined their first time to go, but when Dip got on her knees then unfastened and unzipped her, she was too aroused not to let Dip eagerly eat her out. After she came, she yanked Dip up, spread her legs, and fucked her hard right there against the wall.

When she came, Dip asked, “Wanna take this to the bed?”

Natalie nodded.

“I think we need fewer clothes, don’t you? Keep the jacket, though. I like it.”

Dip led Natalie to the bed and made slow, tender love to her. She’d expected Dip’s languid kisses, soft licks, and light strokes to be far too delicate to get her going, but she put aside her usual impatience and relaxed into Dip’s calmer, more deliberate touch. She was thankful she did because as her orgasm came, it felt like her soul had opened up and poured out literally all her feelings. 

When she came to, Dip was kissing her and holding her hand. They didn’t talk for a while, but Dip eventually broke the silence and whispered, “Do you still mean what you said about no secrets?”

“Absolutely.”

“Can I tell you a secret?” asked Dip in the same shy way she did just before she told her she was gay.

“Tell me anything.”

“I know you’re undercover, and I know you’re looking for The Fox.”

If Natalie weren’t a spy trained to resist interrogation and torture, she would’ve panicked. How did Dip know that? Who told her? Was she working for someone connected with The Fox? Then she remembered her words in the boutique as they tried on lingerie together: no hiding, no secrets. And here she was, hiding and keeping secrets. For the first time in her life, Natalie felt guilty about not telling someone about what she really did for a living.

“Are you mad at me for hiding this from you?”

“I should be, but no. Ever since you told me about your powerful Kegel muscles, I figured that if you kept something from me, there’d be a damn good reason why you did, and I know you’d feel awful if you had to kill me because I knew too much.”

Just at that moment, Natalie realized that, without even knowing it, she found what she had always been looking for. Finally, someone who would always respect her, trust her, and understand her, someone who knew who she really was and wanted her and loved her for it. For ten years, she’d thought that person was Tim, but she was wrong, but this wonderful woman with no connection to the world of covert ops and international espionage simply _got it_ , no questions asked, and on top of that, she was phenomenal in bed. Dip was perfect in every way.

 

Tim’s plan was simple. He would follow Natalie to where her mark was supposed to make the drop off, wait for something to go wrong (and something _always_  went wrong) then swoop in and join up with Natalie to stop the bad guys just like old times. Nothing could possibly go wrong with this plan.

Tim followed Natalie to some sort of hip hop concert in a dilapidated warehouse that had been transformed into an impromptu venue. Cars crowded the space just in front of the building, parked with no rhyme or reason or even a discernible way of getting away from the other cars. Someone must have stolen the electricity that powered the lights, amplifiers, and speakers. The music rattled the windows of his car from across the street.

When Natalie showed up on her bike, Tim ducked down in his seat so she wouldn’t see him. Peeking at the rearview mirror, he watched as Natalie chatted with people with brightly colored shirts and shoes. Then Natalie went inside. Less than a minute later, Banks exited the building with two goons behind her. They led her to a car on the far side of the building, hidden from the lights and partygoers. Shit. The Fox got to her.

He had to get to Natalie, quick, but as soon as he got out of the car, he had another thought: he could save Banks himself. In fact, saving Banks himself would be perfect. Natalie would be thankful that he was there and that he helped her, and she would realize that she could never be compatible with someone who couldn’t handle themselves in a situation like this. Then, ideally, say within a few weeks, she’d dump Banks and come back to him. Good plan.

He made a beeline for the car where the two goons held Banks hostage. He could do that trick with his thumb to knock them out and disarm them. Then they could find Natalie and get the hell out of here. Unfortunately, that’s not how it happened. Instead, a third goon he hadn’t seen waited until he was almost at the car before pulling a gun on him and ushering him in the back seat of the car where Banks waited to be rescued. This wasn’t the first time that nameless henchmen tossed him in the back seat of a car with the intent of doing something awful to him, but Banks must’ve been scared shitless.

“Listen, it’s OK,” said Tim, “Everything’s gonna be alright.”

It wasn’t a total lie. Eventually everything did work itself out, but one or both of them might get tortured or killed first. It wasn’t worth upsetting Banks by telling her that. Her chances of walking away from this unharmed were much higher if she stayed calm.

Banks rolled her eyes and asked, “Can we go now?”

“Where to, boss?”

Banks sighed and said, “I’d hate to kill him, but we might have to. Let’s go to the farm.”

What. The. Fuck.

“Wait. _You’re_  The Fox?” asked Tim.

Banks shrugged like it was no big deal. For the first time in a long time, Tim had no idea what the hell was going on.

“Does Natalie know?” he asked.

“Probably not. I’ve been thinking of the right way to tell her. I don’t wanna hurt her feelings, y’know? As her ex-husband, you’re well aware that she’s a lot more sensitive than she lets on. Why are you looking at me like that?”

“She told you about us?”

“Well, duh!”

“What’d she say?”

“She told me she used to be married to a dude named Tim, and that you were arrogant, self-centered, controlling, judgey, what else…sexist and xenophobic. She didn’t use the word xenophobic, though. She said, ‘the English word that’s like homophobia but for immigrants.’”

That was so biased! It was unbelievable how completely slanted that was. Natalie made it look like none of the problems in their marriage had anything to do with her, that he was just an asshole who didn’t care about her feelings. There was no way he was going to let that stand. If he was going to die, he had to set some things straight.

“Miss Banks—er, Ms. Fox—that is a highly selective account of what our relationship was like. Let me tell you some things about Natalie that you don’t know because you haven’t been married to her for ten years. First of all, and I say this with love, but Natalie is batshit insane. Do you know what it said on her annual psych eval the last year I was married to her? It said, among other things, that she would have to get better to be crazy. This is a woman who will torch a man’s balls if he gets in her way. And speaking of sexist, that sort of thing suggests a deep, unrelenting hatred of men. For your information, hating someone for their gender is the definition of sexism. And she has some nerve calling anyone xenophobic because the things she’s said about what should be done about Palestine would make Rush Limbaugh blush. By the way, word of advice, never criticize Israel for anything, no matter how small. She will scream at you in Hebrew and in English. And the worst thing, the absolute worst thing about her, is that she’s a terrible listener. She only hears what she wants to hear, and if what you’re saying isn’t what she wants to hear, you will _wish_  you were talking to a brick wall!”

“Feel better?” asked Banks.

Actually, he did. Finally, someone besides him knew how much he had to deal with putting up with Natalie’s shit. He loved her, of course, but she was no saint.

“Can I ask you a personal question, Tim?” Banks asked.

“Fine, go ahead.”

“Are you trying to get her back because you love her or because you want her to fix your shitty life?”

For once in his life, Tim had no answer. He could spin some bullshit about it being a little of both, but Banks/Fox would see right through it, and he’d have nowhere else to hide from how much of an asshole he’d been.

“Since we’re asking personal questions, do you mind if I ask you one?”

Banks shrugged.

“Why are you with Natalie? Is it a mission? Is it some kind of game to you? I might have been subpar as a husband, but what you’re doing, playing with her head, making her fall in love with you, that’s just evil.”

“Believe it or not, Tim, I actually do care about Natalie. I don’t want her to get hurt. I could’ve killed her anytime I wanted, but I like her. You could say I love her. I want her to stick around in this world. It's a lot more interesting with her in it. That’s the only reason why I’m still torn about whether I should blow your brains out or give you hush money and send you on your way. Despite how shitty a husband you were, Natalie would still be sad if you died. Unless you pissed her off even more since she last saw you.”

Tim didn’t know what was worse: that he was only alive because The Fox decided to let him live, or because she worked out in a couple of months what he couldn’t figure out in ten years.

“Eh, Pete,” said Banks, “Play us some of that old school shit.”

The driver, whose name was apparently Pete, tapped a few buttons on the steering wheel. The stereo came on, and the car throbbed with the intense beat of Eric B. and Rakim’s “[Microphone Fiend](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DuPfIIn5V_LQ&t=ZjZiOTRlMTgyYTBmNzk5Zjk4NmY0OTYwYzg4ZmE5M2EyYjAxZTQ3NSx1RHJPQ2dhbQ%3D%3D&b=t%3AuNUqLH3Im-tbvbZMEYjTzA&p=http%3A%2F%2Feshusplayground.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F157029109275&m=0).” Banks/Fox nodded her head to the beat and lip synced the lyrics.

 

This was entirely Tim’s fault. If he had called her first instead of tried to play hero by himself, she would not be walking into a potentially deadly encounter unarmed and without backup. Next to letting Jeff do the talking at the exchange with The Scorpion, it had to be the stupidest thing Tim had ever done. God, he was such a _man_! Now, The Fox held him and Dip hostage, and after she saved them, she was going to have to put up with Tim’s excuses.

Normally, she’d enjoy this brief getaway from the city. The fresh air and peace and quiet would’ve done her soul some good, but it was hard to appreciate a ride through the country when The Fox kidnapped her ex-husband. She should’ve told her to go ahead and kill him and save both of them the trouble of dealing with him.

Natalie drove the bike toward the dark silhouette that looked like a barn, parked, and dismounted. It was a trap. It had to be a trap. If she was trying to get The Fox to come see her, she’d set up a trap herself. She hated everything about this: how powerless she was, how little she knew, and worst of all, how far off the plan this was. She was going to kill Tim if she made it out of this situation alive.

Light spilled from behind the closed door of the barn. Natalie knocked. A big, tall man opened the door. Inside, Tim was tied to a chair and had duct tape over his mouth. Served him right. Dip sat in a chair across from him, though she was neither tied up nor gagged. What the hell was going on here? Was The Fox about to do something awful to Dip?

Natalie was about to ask her where The Fox was and what he had done to her when Dip took a pen out of her pocket and—wait, that pen. Was that _her_  pen? Dip pointed the pen at her and clicked. A dart shot straight into Natalie’s jugular. Three seconds later, Natalie keeled over. Yes, it was her pen.

Natalie woke up on a bed of straw. Someone had stuffed some straw under a jacket to form a makeshift pillow. Still groggy from the new stuff in her pen, she staggered to her feet and brushed off the straw stuck to her. What happened? Where was Tim? Then she remembered: Dip! That lying, stealing, evil, goddamn, motherfucking  _bitch_! 

“I’ve never met anyone like you before,” she’d said.

“No one makes me feel the way you do,” she’d said.

“I would never hurt you, Natalie,” she’d said.

All of it, every word, was a load of bullshit. Oooooh, if she had a gun or knife or…or something! Just wait until she found her! 

Natalie started kicking the hell out of an unfortunate lump of straw, pretending that it was Dip. She was actually beating up dead grass. This is what Dip had done to her. As she kept kicking, an envelope flew up from among the straw. Natalie caught it. It had her name written across it in ink with hearts drawn around it. She almost tore it up as soon as she saw it, but for Dip to take the time to write this meant that it must’ve been important. Maybe it had a clue about where to find her. The fact that Dip wrote her a love letter and drew little hearts around her name meant absolutely nothing at all.

> _My dear, sweet, loving, beautiful, amazing Natalie,  
>  _
> 
> _By the time the drugs wear off, and you read this, I will be long gone. But, before you come after me with guns blazing, let me explain a few things._
> 
> _First of all, don’t worry about Tim. He’s not dead. I went through the trouble of making him strip naked and kicked him out on the side of the road. If he keeps walking, he’ll be back to the city by morning. You’ll probably hear from him when he gets arrested for indecent exposure, which serves him right for how he treated you._
> 
> _Second of all, I took your bike. I know, I know, I’m awful, and I’m sorry. But it’s a really cool bike, and if I left it out, and it got bird poop on it, I’d feel really bad. So, I took it. I know it’s your baby, so I promise to take really good care of it. Rest assured, it will be in a very loving home._
> 
> _Next, I feel like I owe you an explanation about The Fox. I know it’s hard to believe, but I honestly never set out to do or be any of this. It just happened. I know you won’t believe me, but it’s true. I’ve been trying to get out of this for years, but the people who’d replace me are some bad, bad people who don’t care the least bit about human life, let alone putting an end to the imperialist white supremacist capitalist patriarchy. If I didn’t do what I did, they would go after civilians instead of military targets. I don’t like it, but if I had to choose something to blow up, it would be an army base and not a school or a hospital._
> 
> _As for you and me, I know you must be thinking that everything from the very beginning was a lie. Full disclosure, I was initially trying to get close to you to find out what your agency knew about me and then kill you. I thought you were a mindless drone just following orders who didn’t care about the geopolitical ramifications of her actions. But then I got to know you, and you turned out to be so passionate, vivacious, fun, and so supportive and empowering. And the only thing you wanted was for me to understand your feelings and be real with you. Yes, you have your issues. We all do. But your issues make you way more interesting than anyone I’ve ever known. How could I not fall in love with you?_
> 
> _My one regret is that we didn’t get the chance to explore the kinky stuff like I wanted. You were fantastic at the sex we had, but I suspect you have a dominant streak the size of the Grand Canyon, which I certainly want to get to know better._
> 
> _I think that’s all I had to tell you. I hope you’re not too mad at me and will remember me fondly when you’re out in the world doing dangerous spy stuff._
> 
> _Love you._
> 
> _XOXO_
> 
> _Dip_

Fuck! Why did Dip have to make it so hard to hate her? Natalie kicked some more straw, but her heart wasn’t in it.

The part that sucked the most wasn’t that Dip lied or that she stole her bike and her pen. The worst part was that Dip made herself a threat to national security and therefore an enemy of the Agency. Sooner or later, someone would be after her, and Natalie didn’t know what she would do if she had to chose between Dip and the job. That wasn’t true. She did know what she’d do. She’d choose Dip and get both of them killed.

Natalie plopped atop a mound of straw and sat there, thinking. For some reason, her face hurt. She sniffled and wiped wetness off her cheeks. What was wrong with her face?

The door to the barn opened. Without even looking, she knew it was Tim. God, she didn’t need this right now.

“Natalie? Are you alright?”

Natalie nodded. Her voice straining, she said, “I’m—I’m fine.”

“Are you crying?”

“Shut up. No. You’re being stupid.“

“You’re crying.”

“It’s allergies.”

“You are crying.”

“Yes, I’m crying, OK, but it’s because I'm angry.”

“What’s this?” asked Tim, bending over and picking up the letter. What the hell was he wearing? Were those palm leaves?

“Leave that alone! Give it back! Stop! That’s private!”

Tim opened the letter and read for a few seconds before Natalie snatched the letter and envelope from him and put them in her pocket where they’d be safe.

“You know what this means, don’t you?” asked Tim. What was he talking about?

He said, “We gotta find her before the Agency does so you two can get back together.”

Natalie looked at Tim and smiled. It was too bad they’d made such a mess of their marriage, but with time, effort, and a few life-threatening scenarios, she was sure they could be great friends.

 

Six months later, after chasing The Fox all over the world—Madrid, Jakarta, Rio, Aruba, Warsaw—only to run into dead ends and red herrings, Tim and Natalie finally tracked her to Dubai, and they got a visual at a party at an upscale penthouse in the heart of the city.

Now, Tim was helping Natalie get ready to infiltrate the party and locate The Fox. She was dressed to kill (figuratively, not literally like she sometimes was) in a low-cut, close-fitting, sparkly red dress that would’ve made him do something highly inappropriate once upon a time. Paired with bold, dark red lipstick and smoky eye shadow, she was resplendent.

“You look magnificent,” he said.

“Thank you. Did you ask out Lindsay from A and R like I told you?”

“Not yet. It’s not like I’ve had time to go on dates.”

“You should go out with her. She would be good for you.”

Natalie had been trying to get him to go out with Lindsay for weeks, repeatedly telling him how cute, smart, and nice she was. If he still had lingering hopes that they weren’t quite through, Natalie trying to set him up with other women sealed it. It was sweet of her, though. It meant that she didn’t want him to be alone. When they got back to the States, he’d ask Lindsay out. It was the least he could do.

 

The party was nothing unusual for the wealthy elite of Dubai. On the top floor of a high-rise hotel, everyone else schmoozed and drank champagne while Natalie looked for Dip. She found her chatting on the couch with a young man, the son of some sheik whose name she forgot. Dip looked rather dashing in a tailored dark gray suit with a metallic sheen. Natalie didn’t like the way the young man kept touching Dip’s knee. With so many people moving back and forth, it was hard to read their lips, but she kept watching from her vantage point, ready to follow as soon as Dip made a move. Five minutes later, Dip got tired of the young man’s advances (or so Natalie hoped) and left the party.

On the comm, Tim said, “Natalie, you gotta hurry. I think she’s headed for the elevator.”

“Copy,” she whispered. She made her way out the party and down the hall, but the elevator doors had already closed when she got there. Shit! Where would she go? If she lost her again—

“The elevator camera’s got her getting off on the thirty-seventh floor,” said Tim, “and…the hallway camera puts her just outside Room 37B.”

Natalie gripped her dress and ran to the elevator. Her feet would pay for it in the morning, but she couldn’t let this chance slip from her, not again. The door to Room 37B was locked, but a stolen master key got her inside. It was less like a hotel room than a one-bedroom apartment with a bedroom, living room, kitchen, and dining room, all decorated in a hi-tech, ultramodern style.

The light was on in the bedroom. Natalie stalked toward it and eased the door open. Dip stood by the huge window, looking out over the nighttime lights of the city.

"Are you doing business in Dubai now?” asked Natalie.

Dip flinched and turned to her. Then she gave her a lop-sided grin that reminded her of that fox in the Disney version of Robin Hood. Dip said, “Actually, I’m on vacation. How have you been?”

“Busy, mostly because of you.”

“Have fun coming to get me?”

Natalie couldn’t lie. She said, “Yeah, I kinda did.”

“Where’d you go?” asked Dip. She sat on the huge bed. An image flickered in Natalie’s mind of Dip tied to that bed, naked and begging for release as Natalie had her delightfully cruel way with her.

“Madrid, Jakarta, Rio, some other places. Was I even close?”

“You almost got me in Rio.”

Natalie remembered Rio, how she had Dip so close she could taste it, but lost her in the crowd at the train station. She’d been so pissed off that she shot her own luggage.

“So now what?” asked Dip, “Are you here to take me in or take me out?”

Natalie paused, choosing her words carefully for the first time since God knows when.

She said, “I just came here to ask you one question.”

“Sure.”

“Was any of what I saw the real you?”

Dip waited, face tipped skyward in thought, then said, “Absolutely.”

“Stop lying!”

“Natalie, calm down,” said Tim, “she’s just trying to get in your head.”

“I’m not," said Dip, "everything I shared with you in Miami was one hundred percent the real me. It’s just that this is the real me too. Didn’t you read my letter?”

Natalie had read the letter so many times that she knew it by heart. At first, she read it to remind herself why she hated Dip. Then, she read it because it was the only way she could be close to her. Why did Dip always make things so complicated? Why did Natalie have to love this about her so much?

“For what it’s worth,” said Dip, “I missed you. A lot.”

Natalie closed the distance between them and kissed Dip deep and hard.

 

Tim couldn’t believe the moans and gasps coming from the other end of the comm. Were Natalie and The Fox…were they having sex? There was no need for him to listen to that. He put down the comm and sipped his lukewarm coffee.

 

Sunlight poured directly into Natalie’s face. Her arm was asleep, but when she tried to move it, she couldn’t. Then she saw why: her wrist had been handcuffed to the bed. That! Fucking! Devious! Bitch!

She could get out of this. There were picks in her purse, which was—fuck!—sitting in the chair on the opposite side of the bedroom along with her clothes and her shoes. She was going to strangle Dip for this!

Poking out from under the pillow next to her was an envelope. Natalie slid it toward her and saw her name written in fancy script with roses drawn all around it. She opened it and took out a handwritten letter scribbled on a piece of hotel stationery.

> _My beloved Natalie,_
> 
> _Hope you like the cuffs. They’re for next time._
> 
> _XOXO,_
> 
> _Dip_

Natalie tossed the letter aside and laughed. She couldn’t wait to find Dip again.


End file.
